Infernal Vices (Resurrectionist #3)

CHAPTER 22

CLARIDGES

I had not seen Lawrence Blake for a week or so and I must admit his appearance always unsettled me. Blake was, at a guess, in his middle-forties, a hands-span taller than I, his frame was willow-switch thin, and when he moved it was with disarming grace as if he were dancing to a tune only he could hear. His face was clean-shaven, angular, with sharp but not unattractive features. His hair was dark grey and styled with oil. However, the most startling things about Blake were firstly, his heterochromatic eyes, the left eye being a startling cerulean blue and the right, a shade of brown so dark I could not discern the pupil from the iris, and secondly, Blake’s strangely mesmeric personality. Whenever Lawrence Blake entered a room heads turned. The American theosophist was a showman, a curio, and London society was indeed hungry for excitement and therefore, very curious about the man. I observed him while dining at my club, and when we attended society events. He had the kind of powerful; penetrating gaze that I was certain could make a man fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, even if he had not sinned. When learned men challenged his theosophical beliefs he replied in a calm, confident, and passionate manner that made the ladies swoon. And on this occasion, as we’d met before our luncheon with Nissa, Blake did indeed turn the heads of society ladies.

Claridges was the tea room du jour and so it was populated by women wearing those ghastly fashionable voluminous hats. They were here to take tea and share tittle-tattle…as ladies are prone to do! Well, the society ladies certainly had a talking point now! When Blake entered the large, grand tea room, conversation ceased and the clink of china tea cups placed on saucers rang like bells. The ladies stared at the tall disarming figure in the doorway. I rose and waved to attract his attention. He handed his greatcoat and hat to a waiter, as we had all done, and then he wove a path through the tables to reach our table by the window facing the bustling street. Blake took the empty chair and then removed his spectacles with striking octagonal tinted blue lenses and placed them on the table. Then the cacophony of chattering women erupted again.

“Bless-ed is the seed, my brothers,” Blake drawled. Both Ashe and Cavendish sat with me. A pot of tea and four cups with milk and sugar was awaiting us.

“Bless-ed is the seed,” we all murmured, keeping our voices low so as not to be overheard by the patrons at tables around us. We all watched Blake keenly, seemingly desperate for his words of wisdom. His peculiar eyes affixed on me. My skin crawled.

“I understand congratulations are in order, Brother Hannan. You have not only found a girl for dear Leo, but also discovered the whereabouts of the Staff of Asklepios. Is this correct? Where is it? When can I have it?”

“No thanks are necessary, brother. I am happy to help. As for the Staff, I discovered its whereabouts and am conducting a private sale at my own cost. I will of course, reimburse Lord Ardmillan for the loss. When the sale has been completed I will retain the item in the safe at my bank until we are ready to avail of its…mystical powers. I will bring it to the final ritual, of that you need not doubt.”

A flash of frustration passed over Blake’s expression and I was sure then that he expected me to just hand the priceless Greek artefact to him because he wished it so. I am no fool, and was not in the thrall of his persuasive personality. I set my spine and we locked eyes. I would not be swayed on this, and Blake would not gain possession of the Staff before the ritual.

“I must admit, I’ve had my doubts about you, Brother Hannan, because of your connections to…”

“Let’s not mention the betrayers name again,” Ashe interrupted.

Blake pursed his lips as if he’d tasted something foul. “But, you have proven me wrong. I’m impressed by your loyalty and devotion to our work. I am inspired and invigorated, delighted to have the Staff within our brotherhood.” He sat back and was at once a man supremely confident in his self belief, assured that no one could prevent his plan. Blake smiled, the expression not quite reaching his strange eyes. I knew the smile was a facade. I shuddered at thinking that he probably wore that very same grin while abusing my dear Sebastian when he was a young man. I hardened my expression and looked away, unable to bear those creepy eyes a moment longer. I poured tea for all four of us as Ashe spoke up.

“Can we now proceed with the final ritual? We have waited nearly a year for all to be in place, and I am so very excited,” he said in a simpering voice. He played a good toadie did our Charles, and the flattery worked a treat.

“Indeed we can. I’ll need you to pen the notices to my acolytes. The final ritual will be carried out at Easter. Brother Cavendish has donated his out of town property for our use. It’s perfect and away from prying eyes.”

“Yes, I’ll fill you in on the details after this luncheon, Charles,” Cavendish said as he puffed on a cigar, and then put two sugar lumps into his cup followed by a drop of milk. He stirred the sweet dark concoction and laid the cigar in the crystal ash tray as he said,

“I’m relieved beyond belief that this is all coming together at last. It’s been too bloody long and cannot wait to have Leo back with us.” He took a sip of tea and then picked up the Cigar and sat back in his seat.

“Ah, my brother, you know perfection cannot be rushed,” Blake drawled.

“Indeed, indeed. I must admit I’ve missed the scamp. London is rather dull without him. Benedict, you must inform Lawrence and Charles about this young lady you’ve found.”

“Yes, of course. After all, she is the reason we are here.” I paused and took a sip of tea. “Princess Nissa is twenty years old, educated, independently wealthy and of regal heritage. She is new to the metropolis and seeking an introduction to high society,” I explained.

Cavendish brightened “She supplied a hand written letter and photograph which I’ve sent on to Leo to use to convince his father that he has a fiancée. The girl’s a demure young thing, bloody loaded too. She’ll easily to bend to our will. This Princess Nissa will make an excellent talking point at society events, more importantly, she’ll take attention away from Leo and his… extra-curricular activities ,” Cavendish grinned and tapped his nose, sending a conspiratorial look to Blake who sat silently, his angular face almost cadaverous as the midday sun beamed through the window to his back. He tapped his right index finger on his lips several times as if deep in thought. Then his expression changed.

“Good, good.” Blake then turned to me and asked, “And you’ve met this young lady before?”

“Yes, I have. We dined together and discussed the requirements. I am sure you will be pleasantly surprised by how mutually agreeable this arrangement will be. And, I must inform you that as the lady in question is a descendant of Indian royalty she should be addressed as Rajkumari Nissa. The word Rajkumari translates as Princess. The Rajkumari is more than willing to be accommodating to our needs.” I heard the first chime of the midday bells and rose automatically. “Now gentlemen, come, let me introduce you to our princess. She resides in the penthouse under the nom-de-geurre Mrs. Mountjoy!”

“Oh how splendid,” Ashe said excitedly. “I feel like one of those secret agents in the James Fennimore-Cooper novels,” he chortled.

We strode through the tea room, and walked into the grand foyer toward the waiting birdcage elevator and then stepped in.

“Which floor do you require sirs?” the uniformed bell-boy asked,

“The sixth floor. We’re attending luncheon at Mrs. Mountjoy’s penthouse,” Blake bragged. I shared a look with Charles whose mouth twitched with a smirk. Blake seemed to already be enamoured by the display of wealth that residing here afforded the princess. The bell boy dragged the cage door closed, then pressed a button which made a crisp warning bell chime before he pulled a lever. With a shudder and the grinding of metal on metal, the elevator began to move upward. The carpeted stairway to the upper floors wound around the elevator shaft and through the gaps in the decorative ironwork of the cage I could see that moneyed guests in their finery used the stairs to give a grand entrance to the foyer. We all remained silent and awkwardly averted our gazes as the creaking, whirring cage made its journey up the shaft.

“There are two penthouse suites on this floor, sirs. Mrs. Mountjoy’s is on the left,” the bell boy informed when we finally arrived at the sixth floor. We all stepped out of the bird cage and waited for the elevator’s descent before I gestured for my compatriots to proceed down the hall.

We strode along the plush burgundy carpeted hallway lit by electric torch sconces with flame shaped shades of moulded glass that gave a bright yellow glow. It was quite the marvel that the whole of this newly built hotel ran on electricity, following on the back of its competitor, The Savoy.

We came upon the gilded double doors to the penthouse suite and I knocked. Moments later the door was opened and a man in his later years. He had a bushy grey beard, unruly silver hair and stood there peering at us over his half moon spectacles. “Yes?” he said gruffly and for a moment I thought we were at the wrong penthouse.

“Good day. My name is Benedict Hannan and these are my associates Mr. Blake, Mr. Cavendish, and Mr. Ashe,” I said gesturing to the men at my back. “We have an appointment to meet with Rajkumari Nissa.”

The man turned his back and walked further into the apartment saying, “Yes, yes, come in. She’s still in her dressing room, won’t be long. You know what ladies are like!” Cavendish let out an animalistic guffaw. “Indeed. I have to give my wife at least a weeks notice before any social occasion,” he laughed. I seethed; the man was a boorish oaf.

We all followed the elderly gentleman through another set of double doors into the suite of rooms. The Claridges penthouse was the height of luxury with a vast open lounge and windows looking out over the skyline of London. The early morning smog had been burned away by bright spring sunshine and the view was most excellent. To the left was a dining area and to the right a well-appointed open-plan seating area with deep green velvet couches, a chaise longue, and low mahogany coffee table. The Rajkumari was nowhere to be seen, but the grey haired man seated himself at the dining table, and was reading a sheaf of papers. I coughed to get his attention. He did not glance up from his documents but said.

“Hello gentlemen, I am Mr. Fairfax, lawyer for the family. Please do sit down, we don’t put on airs.” He tossed out a hand and flicked it in the general direction of the seating area, shooing us away like troublesome children. All three of my compatriots turned and glared at me as if this lawyer’s bad manners were somehow my fault. Perplexed, I shrugged for I did not know what the devil was going on. I had not known that a lawyer would be in attendance, but, thinking about it, it was a nice touch, giving authenticity to the proceedings. Then, I noticed the man’s feet under the dining table—that he was wearing highly fashionable boots. They were two-tone inky black and cognac russet leather ankle boots. I knew immediately that these were the handiwork of the famous Mr. Edwin Clapp of Massachusetts . A gentleman with whom I was intimately acquainted owned a pair of these very boots. I coughed into my hand, hiding a laugh, for I realised then that beneath the unruly silver hair, beard, and half moon spectacles was Sebastian disguised as the curmudgeonly Mr. Fairfax. Oh, this was going to be fun!

I took the initiative to move to the seating area and eased into a very comfortable armchair. My companions followed and then, unsure of what to do, for we could not converse while Fairfax was working, we sat glaring at one another. After several uncomfortable minutes there was a knock at the door.

“Could one of you fellows get that?” Fairfax mumbled. I sent my gaze to Blake, who pouted as if answering a door was an outrageous imposition. Then I looked at Cavendish who was lost in his thoughts and appeared to not have heard the request at all, and then Charles sighed loudly, rose to his feet, and strode towards the door. There’s a good chap! Charles returned a moment later followed by waiters and a train of trolleys laden with food and refreshments.

“Ah, luncheon, good, good,” the lawyer said and began to pack up his papers. The waiters then set the table for lunch.

“Please come and join us at the table, gentlemen. I shall fetch the Rajkumari,” Fairfax said, striding down a hallway to the left of the lounge. I heard the sharp knock on the bedroom door.

Rajkumari Nissa stepped out of her room, took a hold of Mr. Fairfax’s elbow, and as decorous as true royalty, she paraded into the lounge. Nissa appeared starkly different from when we dined together. She was not wearing western garments, but styled to appear demur, innocent and regal in a traditional Indian dress of a pink sari encrusted with sequins and delicate embroidery of lotus flowers. Her coal black hair was loose and partly covered by a magenta headscarf decorated with strings of gold chains and small pendants. Her whisky eyes—eyes that mirrored those of her father, were lined with black makeup and her lips were painted a deep crimson red. I took a glance at each of my associates as we stood behind our chairs awaiting the lady, and it appeared they were indeed mesmerized by Nissa’s exotic beauty. Mr. Fairfax led her to the head of the table and pulled a chair out for the young lady to sit, and then Fairfax took a seat to her right. We all sat, I was opposite Sebastian, with Nissa to my left.

Nissa then spoke, “It is a pleasure to meet you all, gentlemen. I of course know dear Benedict, but I have not met the rest of you before,” she began affecting an Indian lilt to her voice. Sebastian was correct; his daughter was an excellent actress .

“Please forgive me the poor manners, Rajkumari,” I said and then gestured to my right. “I would like to introduce you to my compatriots, Mr. Lawrence Blake of the Americas, Mr Benjamin Cavendish Member of Parliament, and Mr. Charles Ashe, an artist for the Illustrated Police News.”

“Goodness. You hail from all walks of life. How fascinating! It is a pleasure, gentlemen,” Nissa said.

“No, my dear the pleasure is all mine. I am so very grateful you have taken the time to meet with us at such short notice,” Blake charmed, attempting to seduce her with his American accent. Ashe spoke up next, “It is indeed an honour to meet you, Rajkumari. I would be delighted if you could permit me a few minutes after luncheon to draw your likeness for the society page.” Nissa smiled, and her eyes twinkled.

“That does indeed sound like fun, Mr. Ashe.” She then turned and gestured to the two waiters by the trolleys and they began service.

We were presented with a selection of beverages, sandwiches, pastries, and salads before the waiters left us. Then over the next thirty minutes we ate as we conversed about the weather, of the sights to see in London, and of the upcoming society season. It was the third topic that seemed to animate both Blake and Rajkumari Nissa .

“This is a…delicate subject, Rajkumari,” Blake began.

“We are all friends here, are we not, Mr. Blake? Please, speak freely.”

“I am interested in why you are willing to play the fiancée of our dear young Baron, Rajkumari. I’m sure a young lady of your…status has no trouble attracting invitations. You will indeed find many an eager suitor in London.”

“Mr. Blake, maybe Benedict did not inform you of my circumstance out of respect for my privacy.” Nissa turned and nodded her thanks to me.

“And so I will explain what I wish to achieve by helping Baron Von Leibenstein. Benedict relayed the Baron’s predicament to me. The Baron and I are both new to London society. It is, of course, an intimidating prospect to step into the Bon-Ton without friends and supporters.”

“Hmmm. I can see this would be of concern for you as a debutante,” Blake agreed.

“I am independently wealthy and I realize that this will make me the prize of the season. It is why Mr. Fairfax remains with me to protect my virtue and my assets. The Baron is lucky to have gathered a group of…like-minded friends. And so, if the Baron and I become allies, we can navigate the politics and parties together. ”

“Indeed.” Fairfax said, “The Rajkumari’s parents were very firm in their wishes that their only daughter should be protected at all costs. Even though I am not the Rajkumari’s father, I like to think of myself as a patriarch, steering my charge onto the…correct path.”

Nissa paused and gave the lawyer a scolding look. “But I would like to have a little fun, Fairfax,” the look turned playful. Fairfax smiled and shook his head.

“However,” Nissa continued, “I must confess, I am not in search of a suitor. My tastes are…of a different flavour…do you understand? I do not require the attention of gentlemen.”

Benjamin Cavendish wore a wolfish grin. “Ah, yes, yes, now I understand. You prefer to tip the velvet, aye!” he said salaciously. “You favour the Island of Lesbos,” he laughed crudely as he picked up his China teacup and took a swig of tea as if it were brandy.

I let out an audible sigh, embarrassed by Cavendish’s offensive words. Ashe and I gave each other knowing glances. Cavendish was a boor and a liability.

Nissa remained stalwart, straight-backed, and unaffected by the crude words. “Yes, Mr. Cavendish. I prefer female company and I understand your charge, Baron Leopold, does not encourage the attention of ladies.” My associates gasped and turned to give me murderous glares as if I had betrayed their trust .

“No, Benedict did not tell me anything of your business. I am very good at reading people, and this deduction, proved correct by your reaction, was made by me alone.” The silence was a tangible weight in the room. The princess took a dainty sip from her teacup as the other men glared at her.

“I believe we can come to a mutually agreeable arrangement which will allow us both to enter society without attracting the attention of those in the marriage mart. Mr. Fairfax has drawn up an agreement.” Nissa nodded to Fairfax and on cue, he reached into the briefcase by his chair and removed a sheaf of papers. He passed them to Benjamin Cavendish, who received them. A silent minute passed as he read the contents.

“This seems quite straightforward. Leo’s father, Baron Maximillian will be led to believe that you are his son’s intended. We will ensure you are invited to society events, and showcase you as Leo’s fiancée. You in turn will keep all information on this agreement as confidential. No money will change hands; this is a quid-pro-quo arrangement that ensures Leopold will remain in London to engage in society without a paternal reprimand. As I will be his mentor while in London, I am quite happy to sign this.”

Mr. Fairfax removed a fountain pen from his briefcase and offered it to Cavendish. The contract was signed, and all was calm and businesslike. Blake and Cavendish appeared virtually incandescent with delight as they grinned at one another across the dining table. I sent a speculative look toward Nissa, Sebastian, and Ashe. The snare was set. Blake was our prey and we would have our day to best this charlatan.

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